


Mojave

by Slyboots



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien POV, Animals, Canon Timeline, Desert, Flash Fic, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Southwestern Gothic, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slyboots/pseuds/Slyboots
Summary: "He was going soft. They'd been on Earth too long; he was getting to like it."After a lazy desert rendezvous, Breakdown has an encounter with an indigenous Terran lifeform.
Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	Mojave

Dry air held no charge; as Knock Out pulled his inductor free, with a satisfied groan, the night hummed. Blue sparks danced around them, arcing from Breakdown's tingling armor to the desert soil.

_ Pretty _ . Breakdown thought in flashes of imagery, in the deep ache of his port and the burn of his hands curled so tightly into fists. But the word floated to the top of his consciousness, all the same:  _ pretty _ . 

Knock Out whistled, still stroking his pretty inductor. "Would you look--" He threw his head back, vocoder dissolving into static. His headlights blazed against the indigo sky, brighter than high noon.

Afterward, Knock Out settled between Breakdown's thighs, swiping a fingertip through the conductant gel spattering Breakdown's chest and belly; it crackled with charge, sparks popping. Knock Out held up a talon glowing gold. "Mmm. Haven't 'faced like that since Thrull." He licked his finger experimentally.

"Meatbags would've seen your lights go off," observed Breakdown, with no real heat behind it. His own inductor twitched sleepily, still pressurized. A bead of turquoise conductant dribbled onto his grille, and a spark flashed through the air. "Gonna have some moths to swat."

Knock Out snorted, reaching for Breakdown's inductor. "Then you'd better finish before they get here, big guy. Unless you want to frag 'em to death."

Though they were hours by road from the nearest town. The Mojave stretched endlessly into the distance, violet buttes soaring against a bright clear night sky. Breakdown counted stars, watching unfamiliar constellations flicker and dance.

A sharp jerk on his inductor brought him back to earth. Knock Out trilled. "Hello?"

Breakdown settled back into the dust; he'd tensed, bucking against Knock Out's hand. The air was sour, electric. Any Terran electronics would've overloaded.  _ Alien activity. Area 51. _ He chuckled weakly, a hot pulse of current racing up his inductor.

"Good boy," purred Knock Out. "Just let go." He squeezed tighter, his hand gritty with desert dust.

Breakdown's radio flicked on. A fuzzy guitar riff drifted in and out, the signal popping like the sparks in the air. Breakdown tasted ozone and iron-rich soil, and his hands twitched, fingers scraping into the powdery earth--

"Hey, Knock Out--" The radio static cut off his voice. With a grunt he bucked, the wheels in his calves spraying dust. "Slag!"

He was warm; he was comfortable. The desert was alive around him, the scrub rustling.

Movement in the underbrush drew his gaze. The coyote's eyes gleamed orange, as bright as a Cybertronian's optics. Reflecting his indicators, he realized after an instant.  _ Cute little scrapper. _ He was going soft. They'd been on Earth too long; he was getting to like it.

He slumped back, sated, his indicators going dark. Heat leaked from his twitching frame into the dust.

"You took your sweet time." Knock Out nuzzled his thigh, static shocks crackling between their armor plates.

At the smooth trills and beeps, loud enough to stir the dust, the coyote took off like a shot; meters away it paused, its stare wary.

"Hold still," muttered Breakdown. "I wanna see if this little slagger--"

Knock Out's brows rose. For a moment he seemed about to say something cutting--but he settled against Breakdown's thigh, his weight comfortable, and did not speak again.

The coyote crept forward, sniffing the air. It was comically small: Breakdown could've crushed it with a fingertip and felt nothing at all. Terran life was a sticky carbon biofilm, short-lived and fragile, atop a world of basalt and iron. It had sickened him at first.

Silence did not come naturally to Knock Out. "Think it knows we're--"

Breakdown raised a finger, and Knock Out subsided.

The coyote crept from the scrub into the patch of torn-up earth and uprooted creosote. It tilted its head back, ears flicking. For a klik Breakdown thought:  _ It’s thinking. Same as we are. _ Its pinprick gaze met Breakdown’s optic, reflecting the dull golden glow.

The night seemed heavy as glass. Hot conductant gel rolled down his belly, his fiber optics prickling. He must smell, he reflected, of interface and hot metal.  The coyote crept up alongside him, pawing at his tires. With the slightest movement he could reduce it to paste.

_ Careful, runt. _

Knock Out shifted, his claws scraping with a shriek over each other. Ready to skewer.

“‘S not hurting me,” Breakdown rumbled, and the coyote jumped--but pawed again, more insistently. His lights tinted its fur an odd, translucent orange; against the motionless desert it seemed blindingly quick. “Leave it.”

It leapt, clumsily, onto his shoulder strut. He barely felt its weight, insubstantial as moonlight.

“That’ll be hell on your paint.” Knock Out whistled irritably, his optics blazing. “If it takes a whiz on--” His claws rustled.

Breakdown’s engine hummed. He lay impossibly still, parched air rushing through his vents. The Milky Way sprawled overhead, stars so distant they might have been specks of Mojave dust. Fifty Terran years ago he’d known those stars, that blazing night sky, as intimately as he knew Earth now--

Day by day the stars grew more distant; day by day the desert grew more real.

“You’re turning into a real gentle giant,” Knock Out muttered, but affectionately. “Losing your touch.”

“Like the Pit.”

Miles away, an unfamiliar engine growled, backfiring like a shot. The coyote startled, streaking away into the dense creosote. In an instant it was gone.

“Look who’s here to break up the party.” Knock Out leapt to his feet, headlights blazing. “Can’t you fleshlings give us a  _ nanocycle  _ of privacy? It’s a free planet--”

Breakdown chuckled, staring after the coyote. The bone-dry air in his vents felt strangely weightless. Almost hollow. “Primus, I love this place.”

**Author's Note:**

> 'Tis the season for vignettes. Was in the mood for something comforting and low-stakes.
> 
> Written for the prompt "sex in Nevada after springtime."


End file.
